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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26324605">The Ill-fated Voyage of the HMS Frontier</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrFish/pseuds/DrFish'>DrFish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>To Belong [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempted Kidnapping, BAMF John Watson, Being Lost, Boats and Ships, Capital Punishment, Caring John, Developing Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Mythical Beings &amp; Creatures, Ocean, OctoJohn, Possessive John Watson, Protective John Watson, Scientist Sherlock, Size Difference, Swimming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:22:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,230</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26324605</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrFish/pseuds/DrFish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>William Sherlock Scott Holmes failed to graduate the University of Cambridge class of 1877. Adrift in London, he accepts a post as assistant naturalist on a scientific expedition to the Western Pacific Ocean aboard Her Majesty's Sailing Ship <em>Frontier</em>. Events do not proceed quite as planned and Sherlock finds himself cruelly cast away by his shipmates. Perhaps he will find salvation in the company of a most unlikely sea creature.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>To Belong [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sherlock Author Showcase 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Choices and Consequences</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>William Sherlock Scott Holmes was 24 years old and had nearly graduated with honors in the biological and natural sciences alongside the University of Cambridge class of 1877. He had the benefit of a lifetime of the finest schooling and most civilized upbringing, but most of his professors knew him as an insolent young man lacking the focus and discipline necessary to amount to anything. He returned to his lavish family estate and proceeded to do nothing but his private science experiments and cocaine until his mother was in tears and his father cast him out. Adrift in London with his funds cut off, he had finally gone crawling to the Royal Academy, humbly petitioning one of his more successful classmates for work or a place to lodge. That is how he found himself here, aboard Her Majesty's sailing ship <em>Frontier</em>, looking out at the sparkling sea and the distant Islands of the West Pacific, awash in the glory of the sun, nearly 10 months after disembarking Falmouth.  </p>
<p>As luck, or perhaps unluck, would have it, the fellow at the Royal Society whom Sherlock had called upon that desperate morning had just received word of a newly vacated position as assistant naturalist on the western Pacific expedition. Sherlock's good breeding and feigned enthusiasm had apparently been enough to earn him the position as assistant to the chief scientist, Dr. Moriarty, and he was hired on the spot. The voyage departed within several days. The primary objective of the zoological expedition was to collect plants, animals, and fishes from the remote island chains that lay beyond the Philippine Islands. They had sailed from England with 27 men, provisions, and several crates of glass specimen jars and a barrel of formaldehyde. Under the command of Captain Forsythe, who was a surprisingly gentle and meek man, they had rounded the Cape of Good Hope, crossed the Northern Indian Ocean to Ceylon, and navigated through the Malay Archipelago before continuing East.</p>
<p>The voyage had been, up until the very recent weeks, tremendously boring. Sherlock kept to himself, interacting with the sailors only when absolutely necessary. They were a lowly bunch, loud and unmannered, and Sherlock was more than well aware of the crude gestures and salivating stares often directed towards him. Sherlock's tall stature, angular features, sharp eyes, and raven black curls attracted much attention- from women and men alike. Though being landed gentry, as he was by birthright, held especial appeal for spinsters, Sherlock was not interested in their womanly charms. Men, too, he found rather boring, and most, though initially attracted to his youthful appearance, were inevitably repulsed by his intimidating intellect and keen interest in impressing companions with his quick wit. Early in the voyage, he had uttered some unflattering deductions pertaining to several sailors, and now he found himself the object of their constant disdain and malattentions.</p>
<p>The first several islands they visited had been uninhabited by man. Sherlock had been utterly amazed by the multitude of life in the shallow seas and jungles. Dr. Moriarty directed one field party while Sherlock was permitted to take his own assistants, two young sailors who he found mildly tolerable, to search for hitherto undescribed creatures. He had been given strict instructions to report back to Dr. Moriarty in the event he saw signs of man. He diligently sketched the larger trees, taking and carefully pressing flowers and leaves in his notebook. He traveled through the densely fern-covered streambeds, accompanied by the two boys laden with baskets and cages carrying specimens of birds and insects. Back on the <em>Frontier</em>, he spent long delighted hours studying and admiring his growing natural collection.</p>
<p>All that had changed when, 2 days prior, they happened upon an island bearing a small community of people and Sherlock had discovered an objective of the voyage to which he was hitherto naive. The expedition was to bring people back to Britain as part of Dr. Moriarty's ethnographic exhibition, displaying the pitiable souls for public interest in one of the many human zoos that were now becoming quite fashionable across Europe. The <em>Frontier</em> now had in her hold, confined to a 5 foot wide caged cell, a man, woman, and child, who were apparently taken by coercion from their homeland and countrymen. The man was of impressively substantial build, the woman also strong and stout. All three had dark honey skin and black hair. They had been brought aboard barefoot and barely clothed, and then immediately confined below deck in the darkness. </p>
<p>Sherlock had never seen such people before, and he secretly went into the hold to see them. He was overcome with compassion at the condition of suffering he found them in. All were violently seasick and crowded in their own squalor. The woman cradled her right arm, swollen as if broken, gingerly against her body. The child was clearly fevered and wept silently in his father's arms. Sherlock had decided, certainly impulsively and perhaps foolishly, that he would set them free.</p>
<p>Sherlock's efforts had been, arguably, entirely unsuccessful. He had taken the key to the prisoners' cell from Moriarty's laboratory and waited until past midnight when Anderson, the most dim-witted officer, was at watch. The <em>Frontier</em> had come to anchor off the shores of another island which was obviously inhabited by people since a fire flickered at the top of a high hill as the sun had set that day. Sherlock improvised a distraction involving a small fire and a brawl between two sailors. Under cover of the ensuing commotion, he had led the three captives from the hold. He was surprised when, instead of using the small lifeboat he had prepared for them, the three leapt directly into the bosom of the sea and were swallowed into the shadows, where they undoubtedly perished. </p>
<p>Sherlock was discovered with the key in his possession before he could return it to the laboratory. </p>
<p>His "trial" had been brief and perfunctory, marshalled by Dr. Moriarty and observed impassively by the Captain Forsythe. The <em>Frontier</em> raised anchor and moved to deeper waters expressly for the occasion of committing the body of one William Sherlock Scott Holmes, found guilty of crimes against the Queen, to the depths of the Pacific Ocean. </p>
<p>Sherlock squinted against the bright sun. He knelt on the rail of the poop deck, hands bound tightly behind his back, ankles tied together with a sturdy rope, leaning precariously over the blue water. A strong hand grasped the back of his shirt, holding him in place. He bowed his head and listened as Officer Ford read from the Bible. All souls on board were gathered for the spectacle, hatless, with heads bowed. </p>
<p>Sherlock's heart pounded in his chest. He understood he was about to die and he had never been so frightened in his entire life. He thought of his parents and his pompous older brother, back in England. It might be several years before they would hear of their son's shameful fate, and in that instant, Sherlock regretted most the suffering he had caused them. Officer Ford was reading the Lord's prayer. Sherlock inhaled deeply, the tropical sea air filling his lungs as he tried in vane to find comfort in the words. His time was running short.</p>
<p>"For Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."</p>
<p>A powerful shove to his upper back sent him hurtling face first down to the water. He struck the surface and felt himself enter weightlessness as he opened his eyes wide and the salt stung painfully at the lacerations around his wrists from the bindings. He was sinking, having plunged deep enough into the sea that he could not float back to the surface. He struggled and flailed like a pathetic mercreature, but without use of his arms or legs, he could not swim up to the light as his instincts told him. He sunk deeper, his lungs burning with the urge to breath, the pressure excruciating against his ear drums. </p>
<p>
  <em>God, let me live.</em>
</p>
<p>As his consciousness waned, Sherlock saw the specter of a great sea creature. Man in some ways, octopod in most others. It embraced him in its many tentacles, and Sherlock shut his eyes tight as his body was thrust with great speed through the water. Oddly, Sherlock remembered thinking that at least he didn't have to die alone. Even if he was about to be dismembered and consumed by this mighty beast, at least he would be in the company of this mythical being in his final moments. Besides, no use in wasting his body or leaving an ugly corpse to bleach in the sun. It was a fitting fate for a man of science. </p>
<p>Overcome with serenity, he surrendered to the blissful darkness.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I understand this version of the Lord's Prayer would not be read on a British vessel at this time, however, I suspect today's readers may be more likely to recognize this one.</p><p>Not a WIP, I expect to post a new chapter every few days. As always, I love kudos and supportive or constructive comments are welcome.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. An Unlikely Companion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Sherlock woke, he was lying on a bed of woven grass mats. He was surrounded by sand and shaded from the punishing sun by a grove of palm trees. Crystal water lapped quietly in tiny waves at the white sand beach, only several feet away, and Sherlock saw his clothing draped over the roots of a mangrove tree as if it had been left there to dry. </p>
<p>Sherlock carefully rose from a reclining to a sitting position. He was sore all over and his head pounded with an intense headache. He was surprised to see he was covered from the waste down by a finely woven plant fiber fabric. His lips were dried to the point of cracking and his tongue felt swollen in his mouth. On the ground next to him, resting on another woven mat, there were three wood-carved jars. His thirst was so extreme that when he investigated and found the jars contained fresh water, he drank down 2 of them without hesitation. Moving a small woven cover aside, he saw a bowl with fruit and slices of root vegetables had also be left there for him.</p>
<p>Sherlock rose cautiously and stumbled nude from the palm grove out into the sun. He squinted and shaded his eyes from the brightness of the sun and examined his surroundings. The beach stretched uninterrupted in both directions, visible for less than a mile before rounding the shape of the shore. A single verdant green mountain rose steeply above the sandy tree-covered plane on which he found himself. A stream of water cascaded down a crevasse in the great hill, falling to fill a pool with water some fifty yards up the hill from where Sherlock stood. Towards the sea, the lagoon waters were calm, and he could see small waves cresting over a skirting coral reef in the distance. </p>
<p>As best Sherlock could tell, he was completely alone. After relieving his bladder, he returned to where he had woken. He laid his head down and pulled the woven cloth up over himself, which wasn't necessary since the air was perfectly warm. The pain in the back of his head and at his temples persisted. He laid as still as he could, willing the pain to subside. He was soon overtaken by sleep.</p>
<p>When Sherlock woke the second time, the late evening sun had sunk behind the mountain, leaving the beach in the shadow of the great hill. A bright full moon rose above the sea in front of him, and he could still clearly see the dark patches of coral reef in the lagoon. Miraculously, all three jars at his bedside were once again filled nearly to the brim with freshwater. His headache had subsided quite a bit. He drank another of the jars, and took several swallows from a second. He sat quietly and realized he was now ravenously hungry. He ate the root vegetables and sampled some of the sweet fruits that had been left for him.</p>
<p>Finished with his meal, he turned his attention back towards the lagoon. </p>
<p>Against all reason, he glimpsed the head and shoulders of a man only 10 or so yards out from where he sat. </p>
<p>"Ho, there!" he cried out. In a blink, the ghostly bust disappeared into the shifting shadows of the lagoon. </p>
<p>Memories of the events that led him to this beach flooded to his mind. Kneeling on the rail at the stern of the <em>Frontier</em>, the fall, the sharp slap of the water's surface, sinking deeper and deeper. Long arms, covered in smooth, firm skin like that of a sea ray had held fast to his body. Those arms delivered him from his fate, freed him from the weightlessness of the sea, liberated him of his clothes, and left him here to recover. The beastly creature had not, as he had expected, consumed him. </p>
<p>Sensing that his benefactor was near, Sherlock was overwhelmed with curiosity. He pulled aside his cover, rose naked from the spread of mats, and approached the lagoon. He felt the warm salt water lapping at his ankles, and he moved deeper- to his knees, then to his waste. He stepped cautiously, toeing forward before each step, weary of urchins and corals. He squinted into the shifting light- surely the entity was here. He was neck deep now, eyes closer to the level of the surface. Against the backdrop of the sky, once again he fixed his eyes on the outline of a human head, only 3 or so yards away. </p>
<p>Gathering his courage, he swam the remaining distance, pausing a fathom's length away from the creature. It was indeed the visage of a man, easily confused with a stout Englishman in any other circumstance. He had golden-sand colored hair that fell long enough to cover his ears, a strong jaw, and well-portioned nose. His skin was deeply tanned and he had no beard, as if he had freshly shaved just that hour.  </p>
<p>"You there, what manner of man are you?" Sherlock asked.</p>
<p>His companion did not speak, but slowly raised to mid-chest above the water, freeing a pair of strong shoulders and muscled arms from the sea for Sherlock's scrutiny. The form resembled that of an ordinary man, but the color of the skin was remarkable, shifting from the complexion of an English gentlemen at the neck first to a red violet, then to true violet, and gradually to a deep purple. The being sunk back down into the water, so that only his head was above. Slowly, a dark colored tentacle emerged from the sea, then another. </p>
<p>After such an unlikely escape from death, and having encountered such an amazing creature, Sherlock did not see the use in stifling his curiosity. Treading water, he moved a little closer to examine one tentacle in more detail. Of what was visible, it commenced at the diameter of a man's arm and tapered to a slender and whip-like tip. Upon closer inspection, he saw that one side of the tentacle was covered with innumerable sucker-like disks, resembling that of an octopus. Sherlock reached out, cautiously, and touched at the tentacle, feeling the suckers briefly cup at the surface of his fingers. </p>
<p>Sherlock had been treading water for quite some time now, and he was so engulfed in his study of the creature that he failed to realize how fatigued he had become. Suddenly desperate for reprieve, he clutched absently at the offered tentacle and laid his head back to float, just for a moment's rest. He realized the darkness of the water was more than just the absence of the fading sunlight when it unexpectedly shifted beneath him. Sherlock startled and snapped his head forward, thrashing his arms in the water to swim just as he felt the smooth strong tentacles take hold behind his bottom and at his arm, supporting his back and neck to raise him up such that his neck was fully above the water, like a babe being raised from the baptismal pool. A surprisingly warm human hand touched at his temple and the face of the creature moved closer bearing an expression of concern and uncertainty as it inspected the young scientist.</p>
<p>Sherlock calmed himself, stilling in the hold of the mighty sea creature, allowing the momentary panic to pass. From this close, he could now see the eyes that regarded him were indeed very deep black-blue, but the irises were jagged lines rimmed with silver, much like those of a cuttlefish. They were kind eyes, both utterly alien and distinctively human at once. It was extraordinary. He felt clearly he was in the presence of a creature possessing not only great intelligence, but also the ability to empathize, and the natural urge to seek companionship and provide aid to a wayward man.</p>
<p>The bulk of the creature was still obscured beneath the surface of the sea. Still clutching the tentacle in his hand, Sherlock twisted and gestured back towards the beach. The sea monster understood and it moved as had been directed, carrying the human along as it slid smoothly through the shallowing water. Sherlock was surprised when the beast emerged fully from the water in order to set him down on his bed of grass mats. It retreated back into the water. The evening light had grown very dim such that Sherlock could not scrutinize the details of its anatomy, he did get a sense of the creature's impressive bulk. The great mass of tentacles and the trunk below where the human torso ended were together perhaps as much as 4 horses. Sherlock reluctantly released the tentacle he had been holding, and watched with uncertainty as the octopod portion of the creature disappeared into the sea. He was worried that it would abscond away, and this magical encounter was just the crazed dreams of a doomed man. But it did not leave, instead the human element remained above the water and attentive to him.</p>
<p>Sherlock sat with his new companion as the moon rose higher above the sea. Eventually, the seawater evaporated from his skin, leaving him sticky. If he was the first to discover such a lifeform, then he ought to name it. He decided on <em>Homo octopoda</em> for the time being, as it was undoubtedly a brother of man, but clearly of the octopus clan as well. Perhaps if he gained a greater understanding of its phylogeny he would give it a different name in the future. </p>
<p>For the moment, Sherlock was content. He was, however, still suffering from the hardships of the day's events. He laid down and allowed the exhaustion to sweep over him and he succumbed to a deep sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drfish">Come visit me on Tumblr!!!</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Island People</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock opened his eyes to the morning twilight and quickly surveyed his surroundings, realizing with disappointment that he was alone. He looked to the lapping waves, picturing <em>H. octopoda</em> there in the moonlight, but the area of sand was now vacant, and his companion was no where to be seen.</p>
<p>Sherlock felt much more awake than he had anytime the day before. Assuming <em>H. octopoda</em> had gone to hunt or forage for food, or embark on some other errand, Sherlock took the opportunity to explore the beach in the pre-dawn light. He walked for some while first in one and then the other direction. He did not see any people along his way, but there were several small birds beginning to move about in the palms and a sea turtle repeatedly surfacing then diving again in the lagoon.</p>
<p>He watched the sun rise bright over the ocean in front of him, noticing for the first time the array of brightly colored flowers peppered among the palms and coconut trees around him. Back at his makeshift campsite, he climbed up the bank to investigate the pool where the waters fell from the mountain. He was pleased to find the water was cool and fresh, so he immersed himself in it. It was the first freshwater bath he had enjoyed since long before leaving London and Sherlock emerged feeling rejuvenated and optimistic. Once his body had dried, he took his breeches and shirt from the mangrove tree and donned them, though they were ripped and stained. He tied one of the plant fiber mats over his head in his best attempt to fashion a sort of hat. Sherlock knew well enough that he was unlike the natural inhabitants of these isles and his fair English skin would be burned by the sun if left visible to its rays.</p>
<p>Just as he was beginning to feel his loneliness, he spotted a dark object of flotsam passing by the seaward reef. It moved closer and closer until he could see it was a small canoe- perhaps only 10 feet long. It was made of wood and bore no person, but Sherlock saw a smooth tentacle emerging from the water and gripping the craft at the stern. He surmised, correctly, that the creature was guiding the small boat. By and by, he moved into the very shallows, his human head and shoulders emerging from the water, followed by the great bulk of tentacles. He moved towards Sherlock and pushed the canoe up onto the beach at his feet. </p>
<p>Seeing the entirety of Octopoda in ample light for the first time, Sherlock once again marveled at its anatomy. It was simply as he had suspected: from waist up he was a man, from waist down, an octopus. His chest and visage were distinctly male, yet he was entirely hairless and no genitalia were visible. The complexion of the octopod skin had taken on a less inky, brighter violet hue in the morning sunlight. </p>
<p>Sherlock noticed in the canoe a pleasing arrangement of flowers, tied into a circular wreath. Next to it, a wooden bowl containing starchy vegetables and a whole fish- cooked and fragrant with spices! He was so hungry that he began to eat immediately, wondering in amazement if the sea creature had prepared this food for him. It would be remarkable, if he had the ability to use fire, then man's supposition that he was alone in creation as the master of the flame would be false. The creature just watched him, a slight satisfied smile gracing his lips. Sherlock realized, with some embarrassment, that he had neglected to offer any of the generous provisions to his host. He held out the bowl and to his surprise, <em>H. octopoda</em> took several portions in his human hands and swallowed them down, his mouth full of incisors visible as he briefly chewed.</p>
<p>When Sherlock had consumed the whole morning meal, he replaced the empty bowl in the canoe. He fetched one of the water jars and returned with it, offering it first to <em>H. octopoda</em>, who declined, then he drank deeply. He replaced the empty water jar on the beach and turned back to the creature, expecting further direction.</p>
<p>A long tentacle reached into the canoe and brought out the wreath of flowers, which were looped around Sherlock's neck as one would a necklace. Then the tentacle wrapped around Sherlock's upper arm and urged him into the canoe. Sherlock complied, stepping over the gunnel and then he sat down on the low bench.</p>
<p>Sherlock watched as Octopoda's many legs moved and shuffled, bringing his considerable bulk back out to deeper water, dragging the canoe off the sand until it floated freely in the ocean. Sherlock looked down to see the brilliant corals as they passed over them. His companion moved along behind the canoe, pushing it with strokes of his many mighty arms. They moved further and further from the shore, passed through a channel in the main reef, and out into the open blue water. Sherlock grasped the sides of the boat, feeling unsure in the open sea. He glanced back to his friend, who simply returned his gaze with gentle, reassuring eyes.</p>
<p>They moved to the right and eventually rounded the beach into even bigger waves and stronger winds. Sherlock hunched low in the canoe. He felt scared, and wished he had his feet back on dry land, but he looked in wonder at the statuesque profile of the land. As they circled the shore, it seemed the land was indeed an Island, and around the far side, another island rose up, perhaps 2 or 3 miles away. Sherlock surmised that the neighboring island, which was much broader and crowned with numerous mountain peaks, was their destination. </p>
<p>To Sherlock's relief, the waters soon calmed as they past into the leeside shadow of the larger island. After some half hour, they had traversed the channel between the two islands. Sherlock's guide brought them closer and before long, he could see that the shores of this sizeable island were lined with grass-roof houses and verandas, some quite large. Closer, and Sherlock saw wood boats: small canoes much like the one he was in and others that were large, with 2 and 3 pontoons, and masts for sails. There were people, too, and as they came closer still, Sherlock saw they were dark-skinned men and women clad from the waist down in simple clothes. They very much resembled the captives he had seen on the <em>Frontier</em>. A pain of regret in his heart reminded him of his ill-fated attempt to free them, as he had been sentenced to execution and the hapless fugitives had certainly perished in the sea.</p>
<p>The people had taken note of their approach and by the time they passed over the fringe reef into the inner lagoon, perhaps 50 men and woman had emerged from the palm groves and gathered on the beach. They were adorned with flowers, some holding bunches of greens or vessels of goods, many seemingly occupied with some vocation. Fish were strung from wracks, smoke from a fire rose from a small open hut, woven fabrics hung from poles strung between palm trees. </p>
<p>The canoe halted some 10 yards or so out, and Sherlock, uncertain what to do and feeling like an intruder upon this industrious township, sat still and straight. Octopoda moved aside the canoe, his considerable bulk of arms writhed beneath the surface, causing himself to rise high. The entirety of his human form had become visible above the water, towering beside Sherlock's canoe with his slick octopod skin glistening in the sun. All the people stood and watched, with smiles on their faces, a general air of pleasant welcoming in the atmosphere. Sherlock was amazed, they showed no fear of the monstrous creature, on the contrary, they seemed very pleased to see him. </p>
<p>One of the islanders, a well-aged man wearing a mid-calf length skirt and adorned with a feathered cape, stepped forward, his ankles in the water, and spoke to them. Sherlock had never heard such a language. The phrases flowed on and on, replete with vowel sounds. Wh-, k-, l-, nu, and h- sounds featured strongly and repeated often. The man used special separation when he spoke the word "Wh'an," and he did so several times. When he was finished speaking, he raised his hands and bowed his head. <em>H. octopoda</em> did likewise. The people shouted together, repeating "Wh'an" and some additional dialect that Sherlock could not understand. </p>
<p>Sherlock was startled by a pair of damp tentacles moving across his back and chest. He braced his hands against the octopod appendages as he was abruptly grasped underneath his arms and lifted up from the canoe like a child. Octopoda brought him forward towards the beach and then put him down into the waist-deep water. A tentacle on his lower back urged him forward to within several feet of the man who spoke, while one tentacle remained wrapped possessively around his wrist. Another tentacle swept the makeshift hat from Sherlock's head, exposing his raven black curls and fair skin to the sun.</p>
<p>Sherlock was suddenly the center of scrutiny among all these strange people lined up on the beach and he felt himself begin to blush under the stares of so many eyes. The man spoke words to him, which he did not understand. Not knowing how he was expected to respond, he simply dipped his head briefly in respect. </p>
<p>Then, the most remarkable thing happened! The man turned and gestured to the crowd, from which 3 islanders emerged, a man, a woman, and a child whom Sherlock recognized as the captives from the <em>Frontier</em>. The child sprung forward with a smile. He held his mother's hand, her arm wrapped and bound against her body. The family looked well, and they smiled at Sherlock and raised their hands to him. The gesture of gratitude was clear, and Sherlock imitated it in return. </p>
<p>Sherlock returned his attention to the man who had spoken to him. His eyes were kind and brown. He felt a tug at his wrist as Octopoda drew him back into the deeper water, holding him up as he wrapped several arms more firmly around Sherlock's waste and legs. Sherlock was becoming strangely accustomed to being handled in this manner and he turned to rest an arm across Octopoda's shoulders. The people reacted with glee, laughing and speaking boisterously. The man in the water seemed to issue directions to the people, then they began to move and shuffle, holding conversations amongst themselves. </p>
<p>In short time, a canoe was launched from the beach and guided towards them by a young man. It was laden with supplies. <em>H. octopoda</em> had sunk back into the water, neck deep, but still held Sherlock aloft that his shoulders were above the water. Sherlock saw him reach out with a tentacle to take control of the other canoe. Sherlock was raised up by the muscular tentacles and placed in the new canoe amongst the supplies. Without delay, Sherlock, borne in the new canoe, with his companion alongside, was moving out of the lagoon and back to their smaller island, the island people shouting jubilantly behind them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There are tremendous diversity and richness of culture across the Pacific Islands and I am not trying to portray any specific people or locale in this story. </p>
<p>I would like to note that "ethnographic exhibitions," a.k.a. putting human beings on display at fairs, zoos, museums, etc., actually happened across the U.S. and Europe, continuing until shockingly not too long ago. Do your own research or check out some links:  <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ota_Benga">Ota Benga</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_zoo">Human Zoos</a>, <a href="https://www.cbc.ca/natureofthings/m_features/human-zoos-a-shocking-history-of-shame-and-exploitation">Nature of Things on CBC</a>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drfish">Come visit me on Tumblr!!!</a></p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A New Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With the wind and seas behind them, the return journey was much more agreeable. Octopoda maneuvered the canoe across the channel, around the smaller island, through the reef, and back into the placid lagoon. Once the canoe was beached, before he rose to disembark, Sherlock turned to the creature and spoke, imitating one of the words he had heard the Islanders use frequently.</p><p>"Wh'an."</p><p>Octopoda reacted immediately, sliding closer. He smiled, and brought his human hands up to touch his own chest. </p><p>To think, the sea monster had a name! <em>Juan</em>, Sherlock thought, just like John.</p><p>"John," Sherlock spoke again. His companion smiled broadly, and silently repeated his gesture.</p><p>Sherlock imitated, touching his own chest. "Sherlock."</p><p>The creature- John- smiled warmly at Sherlock. The kindness he radiated was soothing to Sherlock, like a drink to a man dying of thirst. He had spent so long among people who hated him, now this creature freely gave him affectionate attention. Still smiling, John reached towards Sherlock with his human arms, grasping his hands, and a glint of excitement reached his cephalopod eyes. He urged Sherlock to step from the canoe, then pulled him towards the water, eagerly gesturing out into the lagoon. Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled along, and John led them deeper and deeper. He freed both Sherlock's hands, allowing him to swim at his own pace alongside his friend. </p><p>Now, in water deep enough to exceed his own height, and John's, Sherlock began to feel vulnerable and uncertain. He wanted to swim with John and explore the beautiful lagoon, but he was not a very good swimmer and was fearful of drowning. </p><p>Sherlock's swim slowed to a stop and he was about to turn back to the shallows when John must have sensed his trepidation. He approached without hesitation, pulled the small human against his chest, and held him securely in his mighty tentacles. Sherlock stopped kicking his feet when he felt the creature's firm mass move to support his legs and back. Once again, he was struck by how comfortable he felt to be handled by this sea monster. Sherlock rested passively, now he did not need to swim, rather he felt the pulsing of Octopoda's legs swimming for them both. Testing John's grip and his own level of free agency, Sherlock turned back to face the beach. The nest of tentacles allowed him freedom to move but kept him in a safe hold. The slender tip of a tentacle came up and gently brushed the messy hair from his forehead in a soothing gesture. Sherlock relaxed into the secure arms. He felt surprisingly safe and he was curious to see more of the lagoon. He indicated his willingness to continue with a small smile and nod towards John's attentive eyes. </p><p>Sherlock's guide held him gently, carrying him along as they toured the safe confines of the lagoon. They paused at the inner edge of the reef, Sherlock looking down to the marvelous colors and shifting forms of the corals and fishes below. One of John's tentacles emerged, presenting Sherlock with a giant conch, bigger than he had ever seen. He took the animal, carefully holding it by the shell to examine its fleshy foot, which blindly reached for purchase through the air. Not knowing if he was meant to keep the creature (for food?), he held it back to John, who had been watching him with interest and a satisfied smile. Without breaking his gaze from Sherlock's face, a tentacle emerged to grasp the animal from his hands, then returned it to the depths. Pity, Sherlock thought, that he didn't have a scientific notebook to sketch the mollusk. There were undoubtedly a great variety of them here, and Sherlock would have enjoyed being the first learned man to catalog them.</p><p>John took him along the reef, proceeding similarly to present Sherlock with all manner of fascinating sea life: a gold-brown shelled decapod, a small greenish sea turtle, and a giant thorny sea star which John did not allow him to touch. The tide was quite low, and for a while John simply held Sherlock steady close to the reef so he could examine the shallow waves lapping over the colorful corals. </p><p>Sherlock was becoming chilled, so soon he pointed back towards the beach and John delivered him there with expediency. Out of the water, Sherlock shed his wet clothing and took cover from the sun beneath the palms. He drank the freshwater from the jars and glanced out towards John who sat patiently in the lagoon, watching him with great interest. Sherlock was surprised when John pushed the canoe up to where he sat, crawling along the sand to join Sherlock in the shade. </p><p>Ah, the contents of the canoe. Sherlock had been so enamored with John and the wonders he was shown in the lagoon that he forgot his curiosity regarding the gifts the Island People had given them. John removed the items from the canoe and presented to him parcel by parcel. </p><p>There were two green woven baskets. One contained root vegetables, fruits, and several lengths of plant fiber rope. To Sherlock's great surprise, the other basket held a metal knife, approximately 4 inches in length and of modern colonial manufacture. There were two other stone head and wood handled tools in the basket: one a pick-axe of sorts and the other not unlike a meat cleaver. Finally, wrapped securely in a waxy leaf, Sherlock found a pair of flintstones. The Island People had been truly generous, anticipating his needs. Now, he had food to eat for several days, rope and tools to improve his shelter, and the ability to build a fire to cook a fish, if he could catch one.</p><p>The next item in the canoe was a pinewood crate, which John set down on the sand in front of Sherlock. The lid, affixed with nails, was already loose, and John removed it easily by grasping it with one tentacle. Inside the crate, Sherlock found a dozen bound paper notebooks, identical to those they had on the <em>Frontier</em>, all damp from the sea but salvageable. There was also a supply of writing pencils, a set of dissecting instruments (rusted from the sea but still of some use), a stone mortar and pedestal, several glass lenses and vessels, a glass lamp bearing oil, and a variety of other scientific implements. </p><p>The final item in the canoe was a small bundle of sailor's clothes and several yards of heavy sail canvas. It was truly a treasure trove- and would allow Sherlock to resume his scientific endeavors here in this new land. He reached for a notebook, carefully opening it to find a brightly colored bird feather placed between two sheets of paper covered with pencil marks.</p><p>A sinking feeling gripped Sherlock, tightening his stomach as he looked down at the notebook in his hands. It was the very same notebook he had written his observations in, the bright red feather he had picked up from the ground at the first uninhabited island he had gone ashore just so recently. </p><p>Sherlock looked up to John, who watched him expectantly.</p><p>"These items are from the <em>Frontier</em>," Sherlock stated confidently.</p><p>Octopoda regarded him impassively, showing no signs that he understood or would respond.</p><p>"Her Majesty's <em>Frontier</em>," Sherlock repeated, "A sailing ship, from whence I came."</p><p>Again, John did not understand.</p><p>Sherlock took one of the writing pencils, and using the blunt end he drew an image in the sand. He illustrated a wooden sailing ship with 3 masts, his best effort to capture the <em>Frontier</em>'s likeness. He fashioned the illustration big enough that he could indicate the numerous sailors on board. He pointed to himself, then to the image.</p><p>Seeing the illustration in the sand, John clearly understood, but his reaction was more emotional than Sherlock was expecting. John's facial expression flashed between anger and remorse, the color of his octopod skin lightening to a pink then mottling with darker spots. To Sherlock's subdued horror, John struck out the image of the <em>Frontier</em> with a tentacle. Then, he gestured to Sherlock, then to the crate. John clenched his human hands and dropped his gaze away from Sherlock, silent anger radiating from him.</p><p>Understanding dawned on Sherlock. He swallowed hard. Was John a vengeful being? He obviously held regard for human life, but to destroy an entire sailing ship! Was it the first such vessel he had scuttled, or had there been others? Sherlock realized the <em>Frontier</em>, and all those on her, was likely doomed to tragedy when she entered these waters intent on stealing away the people from this land. </p><p>Though he was a little troubled to imagine the wrath of this sea monster turned upon helpless sailors, he had also come to understand that John was most remarkable. John had saved Sherlock from death at the hands of his own people. He had brought Sherlock to his own island and cared for him here, in the safety and comfort of the deserted beach. He had shown Sherlock such kindness, then took him to the Island People whom he apparently protected and also cared for. Yet, John's behavior had been possessive in front of the Islanders, his intention to keep Sherlock separate from them clear. </p><p>"John," Sherlock spoke softly as he crawled closer to Octopoda. He cautiously reached out and brushed the hairs away from John's forehead, to mimic the comforting gesture that John had performed to calm him earlier in the lagoon. Even if he did not understand, Sherlock spoke anyway, hoping he would somehow feel Sherlock's gratitude and his forgiveness. "Thank you, John."</p><p>At the touch, John looked up and his cephalopod eyes softened. Sherlock felt some of the tension dissolve from his friend. He realized that John's bulk had risen slightly, like the hairs on a cat's back, and now he settled back down onto the sand. Sherlock stayed close, resting in comfortable silence against the mass of tentacles. John's octopod skin had returned to the usual smooth purple color, but after a short time, it began to dry and feel sticky in the air. </p><p>Slowly, as if reluctant to move, John's tentacle arms roiled and rolled, becoming covered in a layer of sand and shuffling him away from Sherlock and back into the lagoon where he submerged to mid-chest.</p><p>Sherlock busied himself with organizing the valuable items and using them to improve his shelter. He suspended the sail cloth with rope between the palm trees over his bed. He collected several lava rocks from the beach, stacking them in the corner of his shelter together with the crate to fashion a cabinet of sorts where he could secure and keep dry the flintstones, tools, and food. He spread the scientific notebooks out to dry. All but his notebook containing the feather were devoid of writing. Sherlock found more rocks and made a circle for fire a small distance away from his shelter. He went along the palm grove, collecting coconut husks and scraps of driftwood with which to build a fire.</p><p>John watched him from his place in the lagoon. As Sherlock struck the flintstones together to spark a fire, John absconded into the depths and quickly returned with a fish of the parrot variety. He presented it, still wiggling, to Sherlock. Once the flames had died away, leaving hot coals behind, Sherlock gutted and cooked the fish on a spit over the remnants of the fire. He was pleased with himself, proud of the simple meal they had prepared, and he shared it with John.</p><p>Later that evening, after Sherlock had bathed in the freshwater pool and hung his cloths to dry, he lay on his bed of mats beneath his sail cloth roof. The moon and stars were once again rising over the lagoon, casting a pleasant silver light over the Earth. John was in the water, his octopod parts submerged with the miniscule waves lapping at his chest. He glanced between the sea and Sherlock, keeping quiet vigil over the lagoon and his new friend. </p><p>Looking up at the stars, Sherlock allowed his mind to wander. There was so much to see, and so much to discover. Tomorrow, he would start exploring the island. He would start by mapping the shore, perhaps he would venture higher into the hills. He could expand his shelter using palm fronds as he had seen in the Islanders' village. Would John ever bring him back to the Island People? Sherlock wanted to learn their language, there was so much he wanted to know, so many questions he had of them. </p><p>Sherlock wanted most to learn about John. Had he always protected these shores and her people? How old is he, and are there others of his kind? It seemed John was silent, he could not speak, but he understood the Islanders' language. If Sherlock learned their language, then perhaps he could speak to John, too.</p><p>For the first time in many years, Sherlock was excited for the future. It seemed fresh with endless possibilities, and he looked forward to making such discoveries. He wanted to learn about John and the rich people and animals of this wondrous land. His life in England had been dull and lonely. He was constantly shifting among places and people, he never felt he belonged. With John things were different. Sherlock began to think that maybe he could belong here, belong to John. He was satisfied to simply dwell in John's company. For the first time since he could remember, he felt himself in the moment, happy to wait and see what tomorrow would bring.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Argh, John's name was tricky. Good luck finding "J" in a Polynesian language, so Sherlock basically names him himself.</p><p>I hope this story warmed your heart. For those of you interested in seeing this relationship develop further (wink wink) please stay tuned for the next work in this series, "Unlikely Lovers." Thank you for your support!!</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drfish">DrFish on Tumblr</a></p>
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